


Honeysuckle and Woodbine

by Anomy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Darcy is the fandom bicycle and I love it, F/M, Fluff and Angst, History, Lots of history, M/M, Multi, Mythology References, OT3, Steve Rogers Feels, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-12 12:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2110287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anomy/pseuds/Anomy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It was always supposed to be the three of them leading the charge for what’s right. They follow him into battles (physical and metaphorical) and he keeps them safe.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> <br/>Steve Rogers remembers all of his incarnations and in every one he finds them. Some lives make this harder than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brooklyn Boys

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [In the Stillness I Become](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2093472) by [Morning_Glory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morning_Glory/pseuds/Morning_Glory). 



In every lifetime Steve was the guardian. The others were wild and reckless; they had always needed Steve to find them and protect them. In one lifetime, Steve never found the boy. For decades he had dreams of a cotton field where a man in shackles was whipped to death. Steve would try to pretend it was only a nightmare until the man growled with a mix of anger and agony. Steve couldn’t forget the accusation in the sharp eyes that bore through him right before the slave’s death. He knew he could never again leave one of them behind.

But in this lifetime Steve is born weak. His body betrays him at every turn. When he finds the boy ( _his boy_ ) everything is wrong; the boy (“Bucky” this time) saves Steve instead of the other way around. Being the weaker party is a bitter pill to swallow, but like always Steve and Bucky are a matched set. One cannot exist without the other.

“You keep me on the straight ‘n narrow Stevie. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” So if sometimes it still rankles that Bucky brings home more money and saves Steve from all the fights his body won’t let him win, most of the time Steve is content with being Bucky Barnes’ stubborn sidekick.

When they’re sneaking into Ebbets Field to watch a ballgame or setting up fireworks on top of the building for 4th of July they share conspirators grins and Steve knows that everything important is still the same between them.

Late at night, ever since they were young, Steve tells Bucky about their past lives. Bucky likes to hear about the ones where they fought in dirty, brutal wars or died in grotesque, tortuous ways.

“Why do you always wanna hear about how bad things were?”

“Because they’re better this time. You and me Stevie, we’re doing pretty good.” Steve wonders if Bucky only says that because he can’t remember how good life can be, because sometimes their life is hard. This life is filled with problems Steve can’t solve and on nights when he can’t pull another breath through his lungs he wonders why he keeps trying. But Bucky is too stubborn to fall prey to Steve’s naysaying.

When Bucky gets caught picking pockets because they can’t afford Steve’s medication he grins cockily and says, “better than that time I stole the duchesses jewels. At least this time I didn’t have to neck with some old bird.” His dramatic shudder makes Steve laugh despite himself.

When Bucky loses his job at the docks because Joe Stagnaro starts telling everyone that Bucky and Steve are queers, Bucky sighs loudly and reminds Steve that, “things could be worse. At least this time they didn’t chop off our johnsons.” Then he sets about proving Joe right and pulls Steve in for a deep, dirty kiss. Steve decides that morbid thoughts can wait and climbs into Bucky’s lap.

As time passes, Steve wonders where _she_ is. His eyes track every girl and woman that passes them in the streets. Bucky says he wants to find her too ( _he’s pretty curious about Steve’s infamous magic-fate-girl_ ) but he cannot feel how important she is in the same way Steve does.

Bucky sets up double dates with girls, bringing Steve along so he can meet every one of them. After a few minutes Steve always shakes his head ( _not her_ ) and tunes out. Steve’s polite to the girls, but that’s about it. Bucky doesn’t mind picking up the slack. He’s always happy to dance with a beautiful girl even if Steve’s too bullheaded to see what’s right in front of him. And Steve doesn’t mind if Bucky and the girls sometimes take their party somewhere private, he knows Bucky is his.

“I’m practicing for your girl Steve-o. At least one of us will know how to treat her right when she finally shows.” Steve rolls his eyes and elbows Bucky in the side. He can’t wait to watch Bucky try and use that kind of excuse on her. She’ll eat him alive.

Steve isn’t worried about finding her until war breaks out. His soulmates have a tendency to find themselves in the middle of the worst trouble possible if he isn’t there to give them a home and a cause. So after Pearl Harbor, when the neighborhood men start enlisting to go overseas, Steve knows that he needs to be in Europe. That’s where she must be, in the middle of the danger.

Then Bucky enlists ( _it’s the right thing to do Rogers and we’ll bring in a decent paycheck for once in our lives_ ) and Steve’s quest becomes more desperate. It was always supposed to be the three of them leading the charge for what’s right. They follow him into battles ( _physical and metaphorical_ ) and he keeps them safe.

The world is engaged in largest battle in history and they will all be separated.

The night before Bucky leaves, Steve tells a story he’s never told before.

“Our tribe was being besieged by invaders. There had been a long winter and our food stores were depleted. We were able to hold them back from our hiding place in the mountains, but we were slowly starving. People started getting sick. First it was your mother, then you and your sister. Her name was Aliquipiso. She left me at your sickbed and went to the warrior’s council. A plan to stop our enemies had come to her in a dream. That night she walked down to the enemy camp where they tortured her for information. After enduring for days she told them she could lead them to our refuge. Aliquipiso led them to a ravine and gave the signal to our warriors. We called to her to run so she would no be crushed beneath the boulders the warriors pushed into the ravine. A moment before his death one of the enemy shot her. She sacrificed herself for you, so you could be well.”

“Did it work?”

“Yeah Buck. We got you food and medicine and you got better.”

“Sounds like one hell of a gal.”

“I hope you find her.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm really excited about this story and will get the next chapter up soon. 
> 
> I'm trying to keep each of the trio's "past lives" in America. I just enjoy the idea of Captain America being knowing what it was to be a pilgrim, and a Navajo, and a pioneer, and a slave, and a Sioux, and a missionary, and a colonist. So if you have any suggestions of interesting history or legends that remind you of a character please let me know :)
> 
> The legend adapted for Steve's story in this chapter is the Oneida myth of Aliquipiso.


	2. Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys fight the good fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for World War II related awfulness. Not really graphic depictions of violence, but definitely some heavy themes.  
> Additional warning for the Steve's decision to crash the plane and everything attached to that.  
> Please take care of yourself!

After Erskine’s serum Steve is the man he always wanted to be. At least he looks like that man in the mirror. The reality is that everything has its price. Captain Steve Rogers is property of the U S of A and goes where they send him. Steve knows how to be a soldier (he’s climbed his way up the ranks before) and soldiers follow orders. Which is how Steve becomes a chorus girl. A million-dollar dancing monkey.

It’s Peggy Carter that saves him. She reminds Steve of a woman from another war. Peggy isn’t _her_ , but they share a no-nonsense competency and confidence. Peggy doesn’t have the same fiery temper though. When she finds Steve moping outside his dressing room she’s straightforward and logical when she tells him that he’s being a coward. _She_ would probably have screamed obscenities, hit him over the head, and given him a firm kiss. Steve is not sorry to miss out on that experience.

Peggy Carter isn’t his soulmate, but she’s the best friend he has aside from Bucky.

Steve didn’t even know that Bucky was in trouble before Peggy told him. Her and Colonel Phillips’ eyes tell him that Bucky is dead. It seems impossible that Bucky could be gone ( _could be dead_ ) without Steve noticing. Shouldn’t the world feel different? But, in the back of his mind, he knows that’s not how death works. People slip away and it is as if they were never there.

Steve cannot accept this. So he shrugs off all the “good soldier” act and risks his and Peggy’s lives and careers on the off chance that it is not too late.

Bucky isn’t the same after his time with Hydra. Steve can hardly let him out of his sight, because now he can feel a constant ache under his ribs warning him of what it’s like to lose one of them. Steve drags Bucky onto his team, even though Bucky deserves to go home where people won’t shoot at him and he can sleep in a bed, because he can’t be without him. Steve wants ( _needs_ ) all the time this hellish life will give them.

Europe is grey. The Howling Commandos trudge through villages filled with bodies. They pass farms with destroyed fields. Everything looks like the postcards his mother had saved in a tin, except without any life. Steve’s socks are stained a murky brown that is the product of blood and mud.

“Steve, I think we have problems bigger than whether or not your goddamn socks are white.” Bucky sounds curt now. Even when they were angry as all hell at each other, Bucky had never been cold to him before. Steve has to stop himself from snapping back. Something is eating Bucky up and for the first time Steve has no idea what that is.

“You’re right Buck. It just seems easier to worry about a pair of socks sometimes. Hell of a lot less pressure.” Bucky’s eyes soften and he bumps his shoulder into his. “Whaddya bet Dugan’s gotten completely sauced while we were gone?” And then the moments over and they’re back to “Steve ‘n Bucky,” laughing it up about some of their teammates recent antics. As they walk back to their camp they can hear Dernier loudly telling an exceedingly lewd joke in French.

Steve wonders if their third could reach Bucky. Maybe she could follow him into wherever it is he gets lost in his head. They need her.

Things get easier as the war goes on. Steve learns how to strategize quickly and on command. He directs attacks and becomes an expert on how to combat Hydra’s unique horrors. Bucky develops extraordinary skills as a sniper. He surpasses everyone but Steve in hand-to-hand combat until he’s the one they send in first. Bucky does Captain America’s dirty work. He does what he does so Steve can keep his image as a symbol and as a leader clean. Bucky’s quieter than he used to be, but Steve can’t afford to ask him to stop. They need Bucky’s abilities.

“You ain’t forcing me to do nothing I didn’t sign up to do Steve. It’s like you said, men are laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. Its war.” Bucky’s right, but it still feels like Steve is letting things slip through his fingers.

The Commandos are the best team of lunatics anyone could ask for. Bucky says he’s grateful to finally have a team large enough to watch Steve Rogers’ punk back. By the third time he finds himself storming a Hydra base on foot with only a shield and a gun, Steve is forced to admit to himself that maybe Bucky’s right and he is too reckless for his own good. Self-awareness does not appear to translate into common sense and within a few months Steve finds himself at the doors of Hydra base #4.

So it goes. The war plods on endlessly until Steve can barely remember what it was like to live a civilian life.

Moments alone with Bucky are rare. They are passing through a town in Poland on their way to support the “Home Army” resistance. Their contact, a short man with a shock of white hair and a pinched face, leads them the houses they may occupy for the night. The streets are silent and empty. When they ask, he tells them that this was the Jewish sector.

That night Steve and Bucky share a bed for the first time in months. Afterwards Bucky whispers a question into Steve’s chest.

“Do you think she was one of them?” Steve flinches. It’s the question he’s been avoiding for years now. Their Home Army contacts tell them that the Jews were carted away to the death camps by the train-full. And if it wasn’t the camps, then what if she was bombed in London or shot in France? Did she starve to death in Germany? Was she assassinated for resisting? It gets harder to believe that she’s still out there.

“She’s strong.” It isn’t an answer and Bucky knows it. They’ve seen Russian soldiers larger than Steve be taken down by grenades. One moment they’re there, the next the world has exploded into sound and light. Strong doesn’t mean you survive. So Steve falls back on old habits and tells a story.

“We joined the militia in the fight for independence. I was made a general and you were one of the Captains under my command, because in our rag-tag farmers’ army anyone who could write was a shoe-in for an officer’s position. As a trained soldier I had more know-how than almost anyone. She told us that if we were crazy enough to fight a war against the most powerful empire in the world we would need all the help we could get. That’s when she started spying. She’d walk straight into Tory camps pretending she was a drunk man and walk out with a tally of supplies and ammunitions and a map of the camp in her head.

One time this fellow runs into the house when she’s at home and tells her the Tories are hot on his heels. And sure enough they’re knocking down the door a few minutes later, demanding that she tell them where the fellow is. They push her around and make her serve them a meal, but all the while she’s sending the fellow down to the town with a message for help. One of the Tories catches on and lunges towards her, but she grabs one of their muskets that they’ve leaned up against the wall and tells him she’ll shoot if he comes any nearer. The idiot goes at her and she shoots. Picks up the other muskets and shoots anyone who didn’t learn from the first guy’s mistake. The people from town come running up to the house only to find her standing over the Tories she shot with their own guns.”

Bucky is quiet for a long while, staring at the ceiling.

“Did we all survive that time?” There’s a rush of relief when Bucky asks a question that Steve is happy to answer.

“Yep. Had kids and everything.” That was one of the good lives, one of the ones he wishes Bucky could remember.

\---

After Schmidt is gone, Steve saves New York. He takes the plane and the bombs down into the Arctic where they can’t hurt anyone. Peggy begs him over the radio to keep fighting, to make it through, but Steve doesn’t have anything to fight for. If he lives it will be alone, with his incomplete soul. It doesn’t make sense to risk the lives of thousands in an attempt to save a life that he doesn’t really want anyway. He does his best to put a smile in his voice for Peggy and then he closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What an amazing response to the first chapter! I'm overwhelmed :)  
> Steve's story in this chapter is adapted from the life of Nancy Hart, a Revolutionary War BAMF. The story of her shooting Tory soldiers with their own guns isn't even the craziest thing she ever did.
> 
> As always, thank you sooo much for reading!


	3. Spies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winter Soldier is a weapon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning for Bucky Barnes' canon storyline. Nothing in the chapter could be more traumatizing than canon.

“Menya zovut Natalia.” The girl in front of him is tiny with large eyes and pale cheeks. Her hair is cropped close to her head (ringworm maybe). She is not strong enough. The soldier crosses his arms, closes his eyes, and relaxes into the wall. It’s an invitation and a challenge. It is time for Natalia to convince him of her worth.

He can hear her shifting her feet, worn shoes scratching lightly on the concrete floor. The soldier will give her 5 minutes; he tracks the passing of time instinctually (he doesn’t need a clock to know that he is perfectly accurate). Then he will kill her. He bears this child no ill will, but civilians cannot know the soldier’s face.

His handlers are seeking for a partner for him. The soldier has requested a young woman. A young woman can draw out the prey, while the soldier does his work in the shadows. They are bringing him girls, so he can mold them to fit by his side.

The first girl cried, the second begged, the third ran. The fourth ran at him like a demon, kicking and scratching. The handlers ask why he killed her. Wasn’t she strong? The soldier tells them that a weapon knows it is weak; people are the ones who try and scale mountains too tall for them to climb. His partner must be a weapon.

After five minutes, Natalia hasn’t moved. His eyes open. Her body is tense, but she keeps her face impassive. She is not as weak as he thought. The soldier pays his respect by doing this as cleanly as possible. He pulls out a pistol and holds it loosely in his hand.

“Vy boites'?” ( _Are you afraid?_ ) Her blank face cracks and she glares at him with an intensity he cannot remember seeing before. His handlers have the passion of zealots, but there is no fire in their blood.

“Chto mne ostavili boyat'sya?” ( _What do I have left to fear?_ ) The soldier wonders where this child came from. How did the handlers procure this commodity?

Both of them are silent except for their breathing. The handlers will be getting nervous. This is taking too long. The soldier has spoken too much. They like for things to be easy and efficient. The soldier could tell them that even for a machine death is a messy business.

When the door opens she moves fast. Within seconds the entering guard slams into the floor. He and Natalia grapple for his gun. There is a loud crack when her arm breaks. The soldier sees when she gets the upper hand, but he does not step in. If the man cannot protect himself, then he loses value as an asset.

In the space of a second, Natalia bites hard into the guard’s hand, takes the gun with her left hand, and shoots him in the head.

She stands and turns toward the soldier, blood dripping from her mouth and one arm bent unnaturally. She does not try to shoot him, so he does not take her down. The soldier catches her when she collapses. He carries her past the men amassing behind the door and strides towards his quarters.

“Vot etot” ( _This one._ )

The soldier wipes the blood off her face. He thinks her hair will grow in red.

 

\---

 

The soldier does not know any stories. He can relay mission reports filled with times, dates, and targets. When he needs them, tactics and protocols rush to the surface of his mind. The chair takes everything else.

 He does not remember meeting Natalia (or Arkady or Leo or Dmitri) but she tells him that they are partners and he believes her. In the field she mirrors his every movement as if she knows what he will do before he does it. They are two parts of the same well-oiled machine.

Their missions become more erratic with the soldier spending more and more time in stasis. On a mission at the Syrian ambassador’s mansion Natalia whispers in his ear.

“Ya bespokoyus' o tebe.” ( _I am worried about you_.)

The soldier scans his sight lines while his hands assemble his rifle. The target is following the predicted pattern. The soldier reaches for his scope. Natalia’s hand shoots out and stops his movements. She looks him directly in the eye when she says, “oni stiraniya vas.” ( _They are erasing you_.) The soldier takes the shot.

That night he and Natalia share a hotel room. She sits in front of him on the bed, still wearing her midnight blue gown. The soldier runs his hands through her hair, pulling out pins and unraveling braids so her long red hair cascades down her shoulders. Her voice is quiet when she speaks, as if she can carve out a moment of privacy for the two of them. Natalia know as well as he that someone is always listening.

“Christine Granville was a spy for the British in the 1940s.” The soldier waits for it to become clear what Natalia is trying to tell him. “She was good at her work, able to slip through borders throughout the continent.” Natalia frowns. “When she was caught by the Germans she pulled the pins out of two grenades and said that she would drop them if they tried to capture her.”

The soldier smiles at the light mocking in Natalia’s tone. She has never admired flashy tactics; she and the soldier are alike in that regard. After a pause, she continues speaking.

“After the war, the SOE dropped her and she worked as a stewardess. A colleague fell in love with her. She did not reciprocate his feelings. He killed her.”

“And?”

“Love is cruel.” Natalia’s whisper is almost silent. The soldier rises and goes to change out of his tuxedo. In the bathroom doorway he turns to look at his student, the black widow he created. Here is another lesson it is time she learnt.

“Love is for children.

 

\---

 

When they next wake the soldier from stasis, he has no partner. The soldier is sent on solo missions. This is how it has always been.

He shoots an actress in the streets of Prague. She calls out to him in her last moments.

“Wait.” When he looks back she smiles and winks. The movement makes her wince. The soldier waits. “I know you.” He listens to the music pounding in the club behind her until she is gone.

That night he kills five of his new handlers. They beg for mercy and the soldier thinks of glittery heels on a cobblestone street.

He is erased

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes Darcy=Christine Granville who was killed in 1952. Christine Granville was born Krystyna Skarbek in Poland and was recruited by the Special Operations Executive branch of British intelligence because she spoke like a million languages, was really smart, and was insanely beautiful (she was Miss Poland when she was 17). 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is reading!
> 
> Thank you to Google Translate for its contributions to this chapter.


	4. Hustlers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brief free-of-angst interlude presented by Miss Darcy Lewis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8/12/14: I accidentally posted the wrong draft of the 3rd chapter. So if you read that chapter 1-2 hours after it was posted, you may want to go back and re-read the last few paragraphs. I really apologize for my error :(

Darcy Lewis was born at the Iowa County Fair in the August of 1988 when her mother went into labor early thanks to “Sam’s Scorchin’ BBQ.” She was welcomed into this world by her hysterical father, two EMTs, a 4-H livestock-judging team, and 3 hogs. In this way she resembles Jesus.

Actually her and the Messiah share another trait: absent fathers. The born-in-a-barn debacle was the beginning of the end for Lewis family togetherness.

For the first 6 years of her life, little Darcy was a human disaster. Her lungs were underdeveloped, her heart had an arrhythmia, she had 1.5 billion allergies, and she was pathologically incapable of falling asleep before 3 A.M. Daddy Dearest stuck around for 3 years before deciding that this parenting gig was too stressful. So he skipped town in search of more chillaxin’ atmosphere. Darcy’s mom came home to find the car, credit cards, and CD collection missing. ( _Toddler Darcy was locked in the closet and screaming her head off. For a kid with asthma she reached impressive volumes._ )

Darcy likes to believe that this was the foundation of the “rage against the man” attitude that has been getting her into trouble ever since. ( _It also motivated a lifetime of collecting CDs from thrift shops and yard sales._ _Darcy is well versed in popular music from the '70s and '80s._ ) Thanks dad.

Sometimes this rebellious streak has served her well. Darcy has gotten backstage at more concerts than anyone else she knows. ( _The tits help, but it’s the confidence that sells it. Nobody will give you anything unless you ask like you deserve it_.) The petition she championed in 3 rd grade revolutionized school lunch and enabled students to choose milk AND apple juice. ( _Darcy hates drinking milk, but she’s a crusader for freedom._ ) She’s trained dozens of people on nonviolent resistance and direct action. ( _If you don’t “know your rights” after 10 minutes talking with Darcy, then she’s doing something wrong._ )

Sometimes ( _like now_ ) her inner wild-child gets her in deep trouble.

“You are an awful human being.” Jane’s voice is breathless as they race down the street. Jane clearly does not have as much experience with high-speed chases. ( _She was probably getting a PhD or something while Darcy was developing her evasion techniques._ ) “A horrible, horrible person!”

Darcy’s returning laugh is wild and unrestrained.

“Well I told you it would be a night to remember.”

Jane groans and then almost falls flat on her face. Darcy is prepared for all high-heel related disasters and catches her boss/new bff just in time. They can hear their pursuers shouting.

“Shit.” Yep, Jane’s super brain has hit that nail on the head.

“Okey-doke Jane, I’m going to need you to follow me.” Before Jane can think about it ( _and realize what a bad idea it is to follow Darcy into yet another mad-cap scheme_ ) Darcy grabs her by the wrist and drags her down a small street to their left. They run about a block before Darcy stops and looks around for step 2.

“How does this help?” Jane’s voice can get really shrill. Darcy’s almost jealous. “Those thugs are going to find us and we’re going to die horrible, painful deaths...” Darcy rolls her eyes. The ‘murderous thugs’ Jane speaks of are really just a bunch of disgruntled bikers who just learned that Darcy is a pool shark. No way those guys would do more than rob them blind and rough ‘em up a bit. Darcy’s almost positive of it. “…and Nancy will cover the investigation into our deaths. And everyone will say it was ‘so sad, she had so much potential’ even if they thought I was crazy when I was actually alive. And my-”

The door to the apartment building they are standing in front of opens ( _thank god, because my other plans was sooo not going to work_ ) and a middle-aged woman with a Chihuahua on a bedazzled leash steps out.

Jane has an absolutely horrible poker face, which cannot be entirely counteracted by Darcy’s patented “sweet as apple pie” expression. The woman wavers at the door for a moment before deciding that they are harmless-crazy and contining on her way. She has barely taken a step when Darcy loudly lunges for the door to keep it from closing.

Nobody says anything at first. Jane and dog-lady gape at Darcy in horror and she is 90% certain that the grunts and hollers echoing down the street belong to their acquaintances from the bar.

“We are so grateful that you opened the door. Our friend forgot to give us the key and we thought we were going to freeze to death on the streets. Thank god your dog hand to take a tinkle huh?” It almost looks like dog-lady is going to object, but then she gives a tight smile and _walks away_.

Apparently she doesn’t care that much about the neighbors. All the better for Jarcy. ( _Darcy likes to create portmanteaus of her and her favorite peoples’ names. Jane/Darcy is still in beta. Loster is still on the table and may in fact be gaining ground due to tonight’s events._ )

Breaking from the shocked paralysis, Darcy pulls Jane into the building and starts climbing up the staircase. This part of the plan seems less important now, but Darcy is committed to following this one all the way till the end.

“Darcy, where are we going?”

“We are going to the roof.”

“Why?”

“Jane, my main lady, have you ever seen a movie?” Darcy grins cheekily. “No one ever looks up.” And at that, Jane just falls out laughing. Tiny, serious Jane is belly-laughing as they climb past the third story and she can’t stop.

“This night is ridiculous.” And then Darcy’s shaking her head and laughing too. She throws the door to the roof open ( _after some minor lock picking_ ) and they tumble out into the cold air. Darcy breathes it in and tilts her head to the sky. She throws her arm around Jane and squeezes her in for a hug.

“The stars in New Mexico are crazy beautiful.” Jane follows her gaze up and smiles.

“They are aren’t they?” Darcy’s feet hurt like hell, so she figures this is as good a time as any to do a little stargazing. She slips of her heels and lies down on the roof. Jane follows, a little wobbly. “They’re the same stars though. Its just easier to see them without all the smog and lights.”

What Darcy likes most about Jane is how much she cares. Jane isn’t out here in the desert searching for wormholes for research funding or getting published ( _she doesn’t even care that most of the scientific community thinks she’s a whacko_.) Jane’s here because on the inside she’s still a little girl obsessed with space. Darcy wishes she had some of Jane’s passion and she tells her so.

“But you’re passionate about all sorts of things. Like that woman you were talking about the other, the sassy one. Tell me about her.”

Jane’s great. And Darcy’s never one to turn down an audience so she obliges.

“You mean Bathsua Makin. She wrote this treatise in the 1600s that was basically a smackdown on everyone for acting like an educated woman was a harbinger of the apocalypse or something. Half of the essay was just her listing all of the super important women philosophers and artists and mathematicians and linguists and whatever. People made arguments about no man wanting a smart woman and she basically told them that only stupid men were afraid of smart wives. She spoke her mind and fought to give other women opportunities for education.”

“You’re a lot like her.” Darcy shakes her head.

“She was like you. She found something to care about and she stuck with it. I’ve changed my major 4 times. I’m signed up for every club on campus, because one moment I’m obsessed with something and then the next I get distracted by something else. I’m a mess Jane. I’m a PoliSci major with an astrophysics internship ya’know?” Darcy closes her eyes. Nothing stresses her out more than having to face her own commitment-phobe issues. Jane’s hand slips into hers.

“A pretty awesome internship though, right? What other boss would take you on drunken, rooftop escapades.” And that makes them both devolve into giggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BAMF lady of the day is Bathsua Reginald Makin who was one of the most influential early feminists. If you have the time or inclination I really recommend reading her treatise "An Essay to Revive the Ancient Education of Gentlewomen, in Religion, Manners, Arts & Tongues," which, in addition to being a smart, witty critique of the suppression of female education, reads as a who's-who of important women in history. Makin wrote at a time (post-Queen Elizabeth) when opportunities and freedoms for British women were decreasing. By modern standards some of her arguments seem limiting (she believed that women were meant to be subservient and only espoused education for the middle and upper classes), but in her time she was a revolutionary.  
> She was also tutor to a princess, which is pretty cool.
> 
> Ok, I'll stop now because I could write an entire book on why Makin is so important.
> 
> Thank you for keeping up with this story, I am so grateful to you all!


	5. Time Travelers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is the man out of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve is an angst-fest here. You've been warned.

When Steve died, the last thing that passed through his mind was _at least we’ll be back together in the next life_. Turns out that dying is yet another thing that Steve Rogers has royally fucked up.

Hello 21st century.

Steve has lived a lot of lives, but in none of them has he time traveled until now ( _technically its not time travel but Steve closed his eyes in the 1940s and woke up in 2012, so fuck technicalities.)_ Steve’s life has become a cautionary tale about playing God and going against the natural order. Ironically, Steve hadn’t even liked “Frankenstein” when he and Bucky had seen it in theatres. The makeup was cool, but Dr. Frankenstein was a dick.

The punching bag flies off he chain and hits the back wall. Steve hangs up a new one.

Steve is alive, useless, and alone. After New York ( _and a goddamn alien invasion_ ) he started working ops for SHIELD, but they don’t really need him. He’s strong, but he’s a relic. He doesn’t understand today’s technology or have a feel for the political climate. A man with old-fashioned style, an outdated way of speaking, and absolutely no understanding of pop culture references isn’t exactly ideal for covert operations.

They give him Natasha as a babysitter and she’s the third-best partner he’s ever fought with ( _they will always, always be the best._ ) In a fight she seamlessly fills the gaps in Steve’s attack. ( _Natasha says she’s not a team player, says it goes against her training, but she puts on a good show of being the Bonnie to his Clyde._ ) Steve has never once had to check to know that Natasha has his back. Still, Steve strongly suspects that she could do just as well or better without him.

In between missions Steve thinks he might go crazy. He has too much time to think, squirrelled away in his massive Manhattan apartment. ( _They asked him if he wanted to go back to Brooklyn, but it hurts to even walk down the streets there where every changed storefront is evidence of another long dead neighbor.)_ There’s nothing outside for Steve. So he wanders his too-big apartment and forgets when the last time he ate or slept was.

Bucky would have loved the future, but Bucky’s not here.

Steve thinks of them sometimes. In the past, when he has woken in a new life he has gained the memories gradually as he grew up. Memories come to him as he needs them: memories of valiant battles for when he feels so sick and weak that he just wants it all to stop, memories of warmth and family and home when his mother dies, memories of injustice and shackles when he joins the neighborhood boys in taunting some negro boys from across town. Steve can feel sadness or hope when he thinks of a past life, but it is never sharp ( _it never aches in his chest like his heart might suddenly be torn apart_ ). Whatever the pains or heartbreaks present in that lifetime, they are over now. His past lives are complete and sometimes he can learn from them, but they never haunt him.

This time Steve has awoken in a new lifetime, but its still the same life. And it hurts.

He thinks of them sometimes. He wonders if they’ve found each other in this life and if they ever feel his absence. He thinks about looking for them, but what they need is the Steve born for 2012, not one trapped in the past. Their Steve should be able to make jokes about his time on the USO tour and smile when he talks about missions with Bucky. Their Steve should be ecstatic when he finds them.

He hates himself for taking the serum and stealing their Steve’s opportunity to be alive and with them.

Steve cannot go after his soulmates now, because he doesn’t just want _him_ , he wants Bucky. A small part of him resents the man out there that once was Bucky Barnes for existing.

Besides, Steve’s not-death has messed up the timeline so badly he’s not sure if fate is able to fix it. His soulmates could be in their 70s now and have no need for a 28 year-old super-soldier with ( _according to the SHIELD shrinks_ ) “Major Depressive Disorder.”

Steve makes the decision to stay away and that’s it.

Things get better when one of his therapists gives him a sketchbook and encourages him to start drawing again. He’s rusty due to years where his notebooks were filled with battle strategies and supply lists rather than art, and it’s a few weeks before he can say he’s happy with the way a drawing turns out. But once he starts, he can’t stop.

He starts by drawing Bucky. Every age, expression, and look that he can remember is captured in pencil and charcoal. Then he moves on to past lives and draws hundreds of iterations of them, pictured together and individually. It’s soothing after a while to see the two of them laughing boisterously or her looking down at Steve tenderly with an air of peace and quiet that she never shows around anyone else.

Stark calls him a shut-in.

“C’mon cap, we never see you outside of missions. Haven’t your head docs told you that human interactions is good for you?”

“I see people Tony.”

“Yeah? Well unless its some busty blonde that’s been keeping you holed up in that apartment, I’m gonna call bullshit.” Tony is brash and rude with an ego larger than his tower, but Steve can see the worry in his face. It makes him feel like shit that even Tony Stark is nervous about him. So he agrees to come up to the tower, if only to go through the old stuff of his that Howard saved.

Tony shows him the stuff brought out of storage and tells him to let JARVIS know what he wants packed up for him. There are a few photos and pieces of jewelry that stand out to him and he finds himself talking out loud to Tony ( _who’s standing awkwardly in the doorway, anything Howard-related makes him_ cagey.)

“This necklace was my grandmother’s. It was one of the only things she brought over from the old country. Her sister gave it to her at the ‘American wake’ they used to give folks that were taking the passage to America. I always thought it was sad that they’d give her a wake when she hadn’t even died, but she told me a wake was about saying your final goodbyes and not death.”

“Sounds like my kind of woman. I always say there’s no such thing as too many parties. I once threw a party for my funeral, but then Fury messed it all up by helping me stay alive.” Tony shrugs. “I’ve got some work to do, but I’ll meet you back in the common room as soon as you’re done in here. Just tell JARVIS.”

It takes Steve a few hours to sort through things. Half of the stuff is Bucky’s from their old apartment and Steve won’t throw out any of that. He laughs in surprise when he finds a picture of his mother; he hadn’t even remembered that it existed. And then he’s crying, but they are the good kind of tears. Standing there with the picture of his mom in one hand and the “rules for friendship” he and Bucky wrote when they were 8 in the other, Steve feels grounded for the first time in months. Here is physical proof of a life that feels so unreal and disconnected to the outside world.

When Steve finishes he is exhausted and he walks back to the common room in a daze. He snaps right back to attention when he walks in and sees someone looking through the sketchbook he’d left next to his jacket. She’s a few years younger than him with thick, wavy brown hair and thick-rimmed glasses contrasting against pale skin. She doesn’t move when he strides over to her, still staring at the open page.

It’s a picture of Steve with _her_ in Athens. He moves to close the sketchbook and the woman’s hand shoots out as if to stop him. She turns and looks up at Steve.

“He was a ruler wasn’t he? Like a king, but not?” A shock of ice shoots through Steve’s body. She looks so confused and vulnerable that he starts speaking before he can think better of it.

“He was a leader. He tried to make the world a better place.” She reaches out to touch the woman in the picture and he answers the unspoken question. “She was a hetaera, the most beautiful and intelligent one in Athens. Plato, Aristophanes, Xenophon, and other philosophers wrote of her arguments and opinions. He loved her and relied on her.” They are both so caught up in Steve’s story that they jump at Tony’s loud drawl.

“Well I see you two have met. Lab monkey meet Captain America. Capsicle meet Darcy Lewis. Now go back to your adorable meet-cute and don’t worry about your old friend Tony. I’ll just be right over here…” Steve tunes out Tony’s endless babbling to watch her. In any other lifetime he’d tell her the truth, tell her why the people in the drawing call up half-remembered dreams. He’d tell her that he loved her and that he hoped that someday she’d love him. He’d feel lucky that his soulmate was the stunningly gorgeous brunette with perfect curves and sinful lips. He’d kiss her cheek and ask her if she wanted to go for coffee sometime.

But Steve doesn’t do any of that. He grabs his jacket and the notebook and interrupts Tony’s rambling.

“I have to go. I’ll see you at the team meeting Tony. It’s been a pleasure to meet you Miss Lewis.” He nods in her direction, but he can’t meet her eyes.

“Darcy, its Darcy.” Steve nods again and leaves.

He keeps it together all the way to the apartment, where he punches a hole in the wall. He looks around at the perfect 21st century apartment SHIELD has furnished for him and something inside him breaks.

Hours later, when he’s destroyed every piece of furniture and dining ware in the apartment ( _he leaves the art on the wall, he may not like it but he won’t destroy it_ ) his cell phone rings. It’s Natasha asking him if he wants to come to D.C. He spares a moment of thought for the girl in Stark’s tower, before deciding.

“I’ll be there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drawing is of Pericles and Aspasia. Pericles was the de facto ruler of Athens from 461 to 429 BC. Pericles is known for his expansion of the Athenian empire, support of literature and the arts, construction of important infrastructure (including the Parthenon), and fostering of Athenian democracy. Pericles was widely critiqued for living with Aspasia and treating her as an equal. Her house was an intellectual center in Athens where politicians, writers, and philosophers (including Socrates) met. Pericles relied on Aspasia's judgment and she is credited with writing some of his speeches.
> 
> Thank you to everyone reading! It may be a few days before the next update, as school is starting for me this week and I will be crazy busy. But I promise I will be back and writing as soon as I can be.


	6. Travelers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy is a functional human being. (At least there's one.)
> 
> Update 8/27: small updates to fix the typos and formatting issues people pointed out. I really appreciate you telling me, so I could change them.

Darcy loves two things in this life: digital music and Jane Foster.

Stark Tower provides both.

( _Okay. Yeah she also loves her mom, but does that really count? Mother-daughter bonding is required by biological mandate or something. Even if you’re super dysfunctional you can’t really escape it. Have you read “Divine Secrets of the Yaya Sisterhood?”_ )

The tower is less frat-house and more futuristic think-tank than Darcy anticipated. Think Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, complete with an eccentric genius and his horde of minions. ( _Definitely Gene Wilder’s Wonka. Sorry Johnny, but no. Darcy pities the generation of kids that will watch that movie._ )

The laboratories make Hollywood’s wildest sci-fi dreams look outdated. Jane’s new machines ( _goodbye duct tape_ ) cost more than the net worth of some countries. This is good because it allays Darcy’s fear that the world will be consumed by a black hole due to poor-quality Dollar Store superglue.

Darcy has taken to imitating Julie Andrews’ “royal wave” from Princess Diaries whenever she looks over New York City from her super luxurious suite. Even the chair in her office (!!!) must have been made by angels ( _well, probably child laborers from some awful slum, but…_ ). Sitting on it is like floating in chocolate.

The bad news is that the interdimensional-portal making is going about as well as Wonka’s development of everlasting Gobstoppers. (So glad we’re sticking with this simile. Metaphor? Eh, who cares?) Jane is getting more stressed than even poptarts and red wine can help.

“The thing is that unless a particle following a geodisic trajectory hits a gravitational singularity, then theoretically travel in spacetime (continuing physics talk incomprehensible to mere mortals). And I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh… Well I’m sure you’ll figure it out Janie. Atta girl!” ( _No really. That’s an actual thing that came out of her actual mouth._ )

The worst part is that Darcy really can’t help Jane. Darcy is a fixer; she mother-hens the people she cares about.

Case in point. In second grade when Sam Daley made her friend Bridget cry by calling her a “stupid girl,” Darcy stomped out onto the playground a gave him a lecture he’d remember for the rest of his life. ( _Later, he was the only male member of her High School’s feminists club._ )

In 9th grade when her friend Dan was failing math, she dragged him to the teacher and asked how he could make-up the work. Then she sat in his kitchen and rewarded him with a cookie for each assignment he completed. ( _Dan ended up getting into Yale._ )

In her freshman year of college when her roommate broke up with her high school boyfriend, Darcy provided ice cream, “Pretty in Pink,” and a pillow fort. The next weekend she organized a “girls night out” for everyone on their hall. ( _Boyfriend was gone, but everyone gained a whole lot of great friends, so overall a win._ )

Darcy has nothing to offer geniuses struggling to rewrite the rules of physics. Except coffee. Lots of coffee. ( _Really. So much._ )

When Darcy isn’t writing sharply polite responses to all the journals who are suddenly interested in the work of their “esteemed colleague Dr. Foster” or transcribing Jane’s notes into recognizable English, she’s exploring the tower.

Darcy Lewis: intern extraordinaire and friend to super heroes.

Well really just one super hero, but that’s Iron Man and Tony Stark should count for at least 3 super heroes. ( _Luckily, Darcy’s Tony Stark crush evaporated around the same time as her James Van Der Beek crush when she was 13. Now they get to be super snarky bros with a shared obsession with ‘80s rock and music trivia. They have a mutually beneficial arrangement where he shows her the new tech he’s working on and she feeds his ego with her overwhelming enthusiasm._ )

She’s working on insinuating herself into Pepper’s life ( _aka RESCUE!_ ) but the woman is busier than anyone ever. Darcy wonders how many times Pepper could circle the globe with all the frequent flier miles she’s racking up splitting her time between New York and California. ( _Do they give you those for private jets?_ )

Darcy briefly meets Dr. Banner, but the guy is understandably wary when it comes to other people. He lives somewhere in the lower levels of the tower and sometimes Jane consults him on physics-related stuff. It’s on Darcy’s bucket list to help Dr. Banner get out into the world and have some actual fun, but after the alien invasion she figures all traumatized super heroes deserve some me-time.

And she has a super weird interaction with Captain America who is a lot younger and sadder than she would have expected. She asks Tony about it and he just shrugs.

“He went to sleep in World War II and woke up to find out all his friends are dead. And ‘hey, by the way, we need you to fight off an alien invasion.’ Facebook and wireless internet don’t really make up for that.”

Thing is, now she can’t get brave, haunted Steve Rogers and his stupidly blue eyes out of her head ( _or her dreams. Thanks subconscious!)_ She keeps hoping to see him around, but after he practically runs away from her he seems to disappear. Darcy’s not even sure why she’s so interested, but it’s worse than being thirteen again.

She can never again judge Jane for moping about the built-blonde she barely knows. ( _Which is sad, because she has soo many Thor-related jokes lined up._ )

So, as much as Darcy loves New York (and her Stark-original replacement for her iPod) she'd kind of relieved when Jane invites her to London. Jane should probably be bringing one of the actually qualified Stark Industries lab assistants, but Jane’s a big girl and if she says she wants Darcy, then Darcy’s not about to turn her down.

“I think it would be good for both of us, Darce. These anomalies are the first real lead I’ve had in months and besides, haven’t you always wanted to travel outside of the US?” (Darcy went to a water park in Canada for her 7th birthday, but Jane says it doesn’t count.) “I know I’ve been a bit of a bear lately and I can get lost in my work, but I do care. You don’t have to tell me what’s been bothering you, but you’re my best friend and I’m here for you if you want me. So, come to London with me?” (Cue watery eyes, hugs, and laugh-cries)

Jane Foster is the best.

 

\---

 

Darcy and Ian are sitting on a bench in Victoria Park and watching the ducks.

Darcy met Ian at a house party her friend Tanya was throwing. They were chatting about life-after-college and he mentioned that he was about to get his MSc in Quantum Fields and Fundamental Forces from Imperial. One thing led to another and by the next day he was tagging along with Darcy and Jane trying to see what he called “history in action”.

London’s been good to Darcy. She’s used her free time to visit museums and observe sessions of parliament. She remembers why she studied Political Science in the first place. She confides to Ian that she’s thinking about refocusing on her own career when her and Jane leave London. Helping Jane has been a great experience, but physics isn’t her passion. Maybe she’s ready to become an expert in her own right and do the work that she does best. That’s the second time she and Ian kiss.

She met Tanya at a club her second week in London. They hit it off right away and it’s Tanya who convinces Darcy to dye streaks in her hair. ( _They wash out quickly because Darcy’s a wimp and used semi-permanent, but while she has them she feels fierce and luminous._ ) Tanya is impressively unimpressed by alien invasion 2.0 and Darcy likes her even better for it.

Darcy leans her head onto Ian’s shoulder. She’s going back to Culver soon for the start of the semester. She knew Ian and her weren’t a forever kind of thing, but it still hurts.

Ian nudges her and speaks.

“ _Gair ba-sa_

_hi coimthecht Cuirithir:_

_fris-som ba maith mo gnas-sa._

_Ceol caille_

_fomchanad la Cuirithir_

_15 la fogur fairce flainne._ ”

He shuffles after this incomprehensible pronouncement and Darcy stares. He huffs.

“It’s an old Irish poem. It’s about the Poetess Liadan.”

“And you decided to share with the class why?”

“My grandmother used to tell me the story. Liadan is this traveling poetess and one day, out of nowhere, this poet Curithir calls out to her at a pub or something and asks if she wants to be with him. She doesn’t because she can’t keep traveling and poeting-”

“Poeting?” Darcy smirks.

“Uh. Yeah, that. So, eventually she becomes a nun and they only have a few days together to fuck and everything.”

“Classy.”

“Shush.” They share a fond smile. “In the poem she’s basically saying that their time together was sweet and that while it lasted the forest sang and clouds turned into candyfloss. It was good they had that time.”

Darcy thinks about it and decides that Ian was one of the best choices she ever made.

“It’s pretty.”

“Yeah, well, the only way to get my grandmother to make cottage pie was to memorize poems in Gaelic. Otherwise my brothers and I had to live on champ and Irish stew.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Potatoes. Far too many potatoes.” Ian twists his face into dramatic disgust and she laughs.

“Candyfloss is gross. And it’s called cotton candy you heathen.”

Darcy buys a book of Irish poetry and reads it on the plane home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liadain is an Irish poet from the 7th century. There are a few different versions of her and Cuirithir's story, but they all share a few similarities. Liadain was dedicated to her poetry. She basically tells him that she doesn't mind marrying him, but she's too busy with her tour. If he really wants her he can come find her at a later date. Liadain and Cuirithir shared a powerful love. In the end she's a nun and he tries to follow her by becoming a priest. She writes beautiful, bold verses. The end is super tragic.
> 
> So sorry for the longer-than-expected delay!! I won't make you wait that long again. Thank you to everyone who reads. A million thanks to everyone who has commented.


	7. Dead Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky (or is it the Winter Soldier?)

The man falls and the soldier is diving before he even hits the water. The man sinks quickly so the soldier has to swim deeper and deeper into the murky water. No matter how powerful his strokes he can’t reach the sinking man. He reaches out to grasp the man’s uniform when the water turns suddenly cold. The sunlight fades and the icy water starts shutting down his body; he cannot move.

Something glints in the periphery and his eyes seek it out the metallic shield. He watches rust consume the shield like rotting flesh, time moving faster than it should. He thrashes as the rust spreads up his arm, leaving him with a ravaged stump. A rush of blood-red water tumbles him and then he is in a box; clear walls trap him in place. He fights to sit up, to get out, but something holds him down. He screams until his lungs burn and dark bruises cover his skin.

“hör auf.” ( Stop ) The voice is calm. Sterile. His mind rebels against it as water fills his lungs. In one final push he breaks the surface with a water-logged gasp.

“falsche Wahl mein Kind.” ( Wrong choice my child. ) A gunshot rings out and biting pain roars through him.

He screams until it echoes through the cheap motel room. The neighbors bang on the wall.

 

\---

 

“Mr Barnes.” The man is mid-50s, white, medium height, slight build, military training. The soldier notes 3 concealed weapons. Potential threat level: high.

“Call me James.” The soldier smiles roguishly and holds out a hand.

“James then.” The man sits and gestures for James to do the same. “I’m from S.H.I.E.L.D.” The soldier knows this. “We are interested in your intentions.”

The soldier knows S.H.I.E.L.D. Once a great power, now a fledgling organization with little political backing. Throwing his lot in with them would be a risk while their future is still in flux. 

On the other hand, S.H.I.E.L.D. could offer him certain protections. The Captain would ensure it. As their ally he could expect more humane treatment than with many of the other organizations on his tail. ( And he is human. He’s seen the evidence. ) 

“My intentions towards whom?” The soldier affects the accent of a man in London during the ‘70s, dropping the Brooklyn drawl belonging to a boy from the ‘30s. The man’s eyes twitch subtly at the change. S.H.I.E.L.D. should remember that the soldier is more than one man.

“I meant your intentions for your future employment.” A politic way of phrasing things, as if the soldier were a man with control over his destiny. He plays the accent game again. This time the soldier chooses Tehran in ‘91. ( He has these memories now. People dead and people dying. He writes them down, waiting for when their use becomes clear. )

“هل بجعل محاولة؟” ( Are you making an offer? )

“يجب علينا؟” ( Should we? ) 

The man replies in perfect Arabic showing no outward sign that anything unusual has occurred. He waves over a waitress. “A coffee and today’s pastry please.”

“A side of fruit?”

“Probably should.” She gives the man a polite smile and turns to the soldier.

“Can I get you anything?” She’s young with a mane of bright red hair. The soldier gives her an appreciative smile.

“How about you choose for me doll.” His fingers brush against hers as he hands back the menu. She blushes.

“Oh. Umm, the apple pie is good?” She shrugs.

“Sounds great,” he checks her nametag, “Chelsea.”

Chelsea smiles uncertainly, turns, and practically flies back to the kitchen. 

“Apple pie?” the man asks mildly. The soldier snorts. He tracks the two agents sitting in a booth near the entrance. “She’s kind of young for you.” 

“Bucky Barnes is in his twenties.” The soldier looks directly into the man’s eyes and dares him to respond.

“There’s a headstone for Sergeant Barnes at Arlington. Did you know that? People still visit to pay tribute to a great hero.” 

“I sit with a dead man from a dead organization, Director Coulson.” The man’s calm facade finally breaks. The soldier things that people forget that the ultimate weapon does more than fire a trigger; it knows when to pull the trigger and how.

“You’ve been looking into us.”

“I always did like a good mystery story. We used to be able to buy a good whodunnit for a quarter.”

“You and Captain Rogers did?” Bucky -no the soldier- fingers a knife at the mention. The man has crossed an unspoken line. He won’t play this game.

A plate clatters as the waitress returns with their order.

“One coffee, today’s pastry, and a side of fruit.” She doesn’t meet the soldier’s eyes as she places a thick slice of pie in front of him. “One apple pie.” She hesitates and takes a deep breath. “I got it for you with ice cream in case you like ice cream. Who doesn’t like ice cream?” Her laugh is a little hysterical. “Unless, I mean, if you don’t that’s fine. Better than fine. I could take it back and get you anot-” The soldier interrupts her by squeezing her hand which is still holding the plate.

“Looks delicious.” She smiles gratefully. The soldier waits for her to be out of hearing range before he growls, “Steve Rogers is not a part of this negotiation. Mention his name and the only way you’ll see him again is if someone decides that you need to be eliminated.”

“My apologies.” The soldier has no use for apologies and he is done with games. He waits. “We can offer you immunity.”

“Your immunity is worthless. The groups coming after me aren’t the type that operate in the public spotlight.” One of the agents at the other table frowns. The soldier marvels that today’s spies rely on microphones to do their work. Lipreading requires a good sightline, but it can’t be disrupted by high-frequency transmitters. He presses the button in his pocket and the two agents and the waitress cry out simultaneously. Coulson barely flinches as he pulls out his earpiece.

“Agent Carter, can you and our friends give James and I some privacy?” The waitress nods sharply and leaves. She could make a good spy with a mentor to teach her about the subtle details that most people only unconsciously recognize, like scent and feel. 

“Tell her she has a sharpshooter’s callouses.” The soldier taps a revolver against the man’s knee under the table. It is time for him to go. The man takes a sip of coffee before he continues, fore-arms planted resolutely on the table.

“With us you can do good. We’re not perfect, but we save people and we protect them.”

“You want me to kill people.”

“Sometimes. Sometimes we can use your other skills.” The man hesitates. “We need you. We can’t afford having an enemy like you. I like to think that you want a chance to help the world and that’s us.” The soldier sits back and closes his eyes. Is that who he is? What does he care for people, for the world?

The soldier sees the faces of the dead behind his eyelids. It would have been better for the world if he had been eliminated.

“That’s what he would do.” The soldier isn’t sure if he’s referring to Bucky or Steve.

“It’s the right thing to do.”

The soldier throws a few bills on the table and walks out of the diner. The agents outside watch as he straddles a Harley he picked up in Reno the day before. It’s the waitress ( Carter ) who speaks.

“He has a bike too. Steve I mean.” She’s foolishly brave, but the soldier only revs the engine.

“At least the punk gets something warm between his legs.” The agents gape as he tears out of the parking lot.

 

\---

 

He dreams he’s Bucky, wading through pools of blood. He’s dressed in his Sergeant’s uniform, protecting something precious behind him. 

Attacks come from every direction and he defeats them all. A little girl circles with a throwing knife and he slits her throat. His ma aims her small pistol at whatever’s behind him.

“I’m only doing what’s best for you James.” He shoots her in the head, tears running down his face. Doctors and faceless soldiers converge upon him and he slaughters them all. He cries out in horror at the blood congealing on his hands. 

“I can’t do this. I can’t be this.” A knife flies towards him and he catches it in his hand, unwilling to let it pass him.

It feels like years before the attacks stop. A wall of bodies is piled high around him. He turns around in relief and smiles tiredly at Steve. The bullet hits Steve just as Bucky takes a step towards him and Bucky catches him as he crumples to the ground.

“You’re going to be okay Steve, just stick with me.” He cradles Steve’s head and holds pressure to the wound in his stomach, but he isn’t healing. Steve’s small and weak again, every pint of blood streaming between Bucky’s fingers is too much.

“Steve? Steve look at me! Come on, you can’t die.” Steve’s bleary eyes seek out Bucky’s face and he sobs. “Steve?” Steve frowns and tries to speak, but he coughs blood. “Hey, don’t say anything, you need to conserve your strength.” But Steve’s stubborn and he finally gets the words out.

“You did this to me.” Bucky’s blood turns to ice.

Two more shots ring out and Steve is dead, pieces of his skull plastered all over Bucky’s jacket.

Bucky rises in grieving rage to face the attacker, but he only sees a mirror of himself.

He stares at the man in black combat gear and a mask and  knows .

“To je nešťastné, můj přítel.” ( That’s a rough break my friend. ) A woman in a sequined mini-dress leans irreverently against the wall.

“I killed him.” She sighs.

“You need to find him. You need to find me. It doesn’t work otherwise.” She lifts her hand to his cheek. “Let me tell you a story. When I was Eleanor I chose him first, but all his bravery had been beaten out of him at a young age. He was the younger son, intended to live alone in cell somewhere. He was so good, so concerned with justice and the value of human life, but I was wild and saw his weakness. We could not reconcile. I found you. You were wild as I was wild and together we were more powerful than any other. We tore at each other like cats: I set our son in a revolt against you, you imprisoned me for 16 years. We are not good people, not like him, yet I could tell you stories in which we are heroes and saviours. I can tell stories where we give him strength.” 

She takes his hand and wipes the blood off with her sleeve. “Have hope.”

“I killed you.” The moment it comes out of Bucky’s mouth, he knows it to be true.

“Předpokládám, že jste to udělal.” ( I suppose you did. ) At that she begins to rot, a corpse amongst all the other bodies. He is alone in a sea of death.

Bucky wakes, screaming and hoarse, in another motel bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally found a way to use Eleanor of Aquitaine!!! I've been absolutely fascinated with her since I read "A Proud Taste for Scarlet and Miniver" by E.L. Konigsburg as a kid. (E.L. Konigsburg also wrote one of my favourite books ever "From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler." Read it!)  
> So, Eleanor of Aquitaine was basically the most powerful woman in Europe during the High Middle Ages. At age 12 she inherited a Duchy and became the richest eligible heiress in Western Europe. (She owned more land than the French King) She and Prince Louis of France (soon to be King Louis) married when they were both teenagers and were married 15 years. Louis was madly in love with her and ended up making some really out-of-character/rash decisions at her urging. After a lot of drama involving family politics and the crusades, their marriage was annulled. She married Henry, Duke of Normandy (who was about to become King of England.) Their relationship was extremely tumultuous but passionate (neither is believed to have been even remotely faithful). As said, Eleanor encouraged her younger sons to revolt against Henry and ended up imprisoned. After Henry died she names herself Queen Regent over England and ruled the country for many years. Basically, a super morally-ambiguous BAMF.
> 
> That was not a short summary... oops  
> Thank you for reading!


	8. Patients (Patience)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky Barnes is back.

Sharon came to him first.

“He’s in.” Steve’s fist pounds into the bag. “Steve-,”another hit, “-are you-,” pound, “-hearing-,” pound, “-me?,” pound, pound, pound, pound. The punching bag flies into the back wall. He reaches for another, but Sharon catches his wrist and pulls so he’ll face her. 

“I hear you Sharon.” She sighs and lets go.

“He contacted an agent last night.”

“Who?”

“Sergeant Barn-” Steve cuts her off with a pained bark of laughter. He shakes his head.

“Who did he contact?” Sharon’s eyes soften, but her tone is military, precise and professional.

“Sergeant Barnes made contact with me at 1900 yesterday. I was waiting at the rendezvous point for a meeting with an asset. A turned Hydra agent. His presence made quite a statement.” Steve breathes deeply, sounds like Bucky. As if there weren’t already enough drama in this soap opera. 

“Did he scare away your asset.” Sharon smirks.

“Put the fear of god in the man, more like. I have it under control.”

“Thanks for letting me know. I appreciate it.” He hangs up a new bag. Sharon walks over to stand beside him. 

“Anytime Steve.” They’re silent for a moment. “Are you going to go see him?” Steve runs a hand through his hair.

“Might not help. I don’t think he wants to see me. Sam and I chased him for months and he never once turned around.” She squeezes his bicep lightly, offering comfort. “I’m glad he came in.”

“You just wish he came to you.”

“I’m not being fair.” Sharon shrugs. She doesn’t deny it, but she doesn’t offer up any judgement either. Steve appreciates that about her. “How is he?”

“He remembers a lot.” The resentment washes away and Steve aches for James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky doesn’t deserve the pain - the crimes of other men- being thrust upon him. Steve wishes (not for the first time) that Bucky had died in World War II. 

“Ever since I woke up, all I did was wish that he was here.” A selfish part of him is glad that he is; Steve is so tired of being alone. He guiltily quashes that thought.

“Come see him.” She pats him on the back and leaves.

And Steve does. He manages to stay away for three days, but he was kidding himself if he ever thought he could stay away. On day four he walks into Stark Tower. ( Tony wouldn’t let S.H.I.E.L.D. spirit Bucky away to some secret bunker. He’d called Steve to let him know. “I don’t trust them to remember that there’s a person in there. I’ll look out for your boy.” )

Tony himself meets him in the lobby. Steve would never admit how comforting Tony’s typical babble is as he leads him to the secure area where Bucky is kept.

“Your boy is a mess cap, scary as hell though. They’ve had him in interrogation for three days, trying to solve all the unsolvable cases of the last 70 years. And let me tell you, that kid has been  around . It’s a shame really, now that I’m being all responsible I can’t tell all those Reddit trolls how wrong all their conspiracy theories are. I get why you like him though. That boy turns on the charm and  damn , even I might switch teams. I think Coulson might have tossed you aside for a new love…”

This continues until they stand in front of a one-way mirror. In one of his mercurial shifts, Tony is suddenly serious.

“He’s been keeping it together in there. I don’t know how. This stuff will make you sick. Your boy is strong; he’s a fighter.” Steve nods as his eyes drink in every detail of Bucky’s appearance through the glass. 

He’s thinner than he was in D.C., but he looks more human. That awful hair is gone. Coulson himself is in the interrogation room. Steve can’t hear what they’re saying, but he can see the emptiness in Bucky’s eyes. How still he sits in the chair. The arm is gone, the left sleeve of his long-sleeve t-shirt is empty. Its loss doesn’t make the man in the chair look any less intimidating. Steve could always feel the thrum of energy beneath Bucky’s easy-going facade, but now its magnified by a thousand. The man in the room is powerful. Steve remembers their battle, he’s not sure that even his super-soldier strength can defeat The Winter Soldier one-on-one. He’s not sure how long they’ve stood there before Tony speaks again.

“Take care of yourself Steve. You can’t help him if you fall apart.” Steve doesn’t reply or look away from the glass, but he can hear Tony sigh. “Just, don’t be a martyr.” Tony steps forward to flip a switch and suddenly sound pours from the speakers.

“Collateral damage. Three children: headshots. One female, mid-thirties: strangulation. 15 employees, various ages: caught in fire…” it goes on and on.

Steve spends hours listening to Bucky’s mechanical voice describe murders and massacres.

\---

Bucky won’t talk with Steve. Every day, Coulson asks and Bucky says no. Steve tries to give him space, to let him heal. 

They finished interrogations weeks ago, now they are trying to rehabilitate him. Steve keeps track of every treatment and therapists report. He argues with Coulson when the man continues to keep Bucky in a cell.

“He needs sunlight. He needs to feel like a person.” The advantage of being Captain America is that no one dares denying his requests for long. Tony provides a secure floor in the tower with windows, a kitchen, and a gym. Bucky’s progress is almost immediate.

Natasha visits Bucky every day. They knew each other before, in the Red Room. She tells Steve that they spend most of their time sparring.

“We never knew how to treat each other like human beings. Perhaps we can only communicate through violence.” All the same, Steve can see the affection she holds for him. He’s glad that Bucky is not alone.

In the end, it is Natasha who forces things to change. Steve is in Tony’s lab, listening to Tony explain the changes he’s made to the arm. ( S.H.I.E.L.D. wants a weapon for their new asset, but Tony makes an arm for a man. “I’m done being an arm’s dealer. If he wants a weapon he can tell me himself.” ) Steve spends most of his time hanging around the tower these days; Tony calls him a ghost. It is a while before Steve notices her watching him from the doorway.

“Natasha.” Tony’s head whips around at Steve’s voice, but he only waves his hand at Steve and continues flipping through schematics on his tablet. Steve knows a dismissal when he sees one, he follows Natasha down the hall. “How are you?” Natasha smiles at him.

“I’m good. It’s you I worry about.” Steve can’t honestly tell her that he’s fine so he stays silent. It doesn’t take him long to figure out where they are headed.

“He doesn’t want to see me.”

“Tough.” They are quiet in the elevator. Steve wants to argue, to tell her why its best that he stay away, but he’s not that strong. He’s too relieved that this is finally happening for him to be a good person. He steps out of the elevator, heart pounding, but Natasha stays behind. She closes the elevator door before he can protest.

Bucky’s flat is quiet except for the tinny sound of a television in another room. It’s a baseball game and a sob catches in Steve’s throat. He wavers outside the elevator, unsure, before he raises his voice.

“Hello?” There’s a crashing noise down the hall. He follows the sound into the other room. Bucky stares at him from across the room, horror all over his expression. “Buck.” Steve cautiously approaches him, his heart overwhelmed at being so close. At seeing him in person, no glass between them. “Buck.” This time his voice is more raw, desperate.

Suddenly, Bucky unfreezes and grabs onto Steve. Steve’s arms wrap around him, probably too tight, as he desperately tries to eliminate any space between them. They stand there for minutes, caught up in each other’s presence. Steve wants to tell Bucky how much he missed him. How sorry he is that he left him behind. How impossible it was to live in a world without him. He wants to stand here, breathing in Bucky’s familiar scent all day. But Bucky pull back first, wrenching heartbreak all over his face.

“I killed her.” Steve smiles gently.

“I know what you did, but none of it was you.” The pain in Bucky’s face only sharpens.

“No. Steve, I killed  her .” And then Steve understands. A wave of panic for the vibrant intern almost stops his heart; he thought he could live without her, but a part of him always thought that someday they would have a chance. He’s surprised by the loss he feels for a woman he only met once. But of course she’s so much more than that. He sinks to the floor. “I’m so sorry Steve.” Bucky’s hand reaches out as if he’s not sure how to help.

“I met her.” And he left her behind. He promised her he’d always find her and he betrayed her. Bucky crouches in front of him, hand tugging Steve’s jaw up to meet his eyes. Steve can’t understand the joy in his eyes, maybe Bucky has changed more than he thought. 

“When?” There’s a manic brightness in his eyes. “Steve this is important, when did you meet her?”

“Right before D.C.” It seems unbearably cruel that the universe was so close to bringing all three of them together.

“She wasn’t with you.” Confusion colors Bucky’s voice.

“I couldn’t bring her into it. God Bucky, I was so broken and she was so young and beautiful. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“You left her alone.” Steve can hear his shock. “Till the end of the line Steve! Doesn’t she deserve that too?”

“What does it matter now?” They’re both yelling. 

“I killed her years ago.” Bucky is breathing hard. “Long before D.C.” Steve crumples in relief.

“She’s still out there.” Bucky smiles lightly and leans his forehead against Steve’s.

“We can’t leave her behind. We need each other.”

“Tony’s almost done with your arm.” Bucky actually laughs out loud.

“I see you’re as smooth as ever.” Steve shoves at him playfully. 

“Jerk. Your arm, it reminds me of her.” Bucky raises an eyebrow. “She lost a leg in a battle, a long time ago, and we made her a limb of iron so she could keep fighting.”

“A warrior huh?”

“An ally. She fought beside us.” 

“She deserves a choice. I’m broken and wrong, but I would choose her if she were the same. We throw our lots in together.” Steve pulls Bucky close again.

“I love you.” Bucky leans back so Steve lies on top of him on the floor. Steve laughs and kisses him. They both groan as the kiss deepens, dirtier and more desperate. Bucky's hand tangles in his hair as Steve's tongue licks into his mouth. Everything is warm and for the first time since he woke, Steve cannot feel the persistent chill of the ice. Bucky smiles against his mouth and gently pulls Steve's head up.  


"I missed you."

Steve vows never to let him go again.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Queen Vishpala, an ancient Indian queen mentioned in the Rig-Veda (like super ancient c. 7000 B.C.) Not that much is known about her except that she was an ally of the Ashvins, the divine twin horsemen. The Ashvins are two gods, but are so bonded as to often be referred to as one person. Vishpala lost her leg in a battle and the Ashvins gave her an iron leg to replace it so she could still ride horseback. This is doubly cool because it is the first known reference to a prosthetic limb.
> 
> So, yay! People actually get together. Bucky is way smarter than Steve about Darcy. Not everything is angst :)
> 
> Thank you so so much for reading!


	9. Students

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> School is hard (but also kinda great)

Okay, so wanna hear something funny?

_One._

_How many psychics does it take to change a light bulb?_

Ha! Don’t hate, Darcy hasn’t gotten a proper night’s sleep in weeks; she’s been too busy. But whatevs, sleep is for the weak! Scholastic warriors do not need sleep. Bow down mortals! (Ohmigawd, so apparently Darcy turns into Loki when she’s sleep deprived. Maybe insomnia is the true culprit for the invasion of New York, she’ll have to recommend some beddie-bye time for Loki: not-dead God of Mischief, esquire.)

If Darcy is going to turn into a megalomaniac overlord, this is the time to do it. Being a grad student means having minions. Darcy teaches two undergrad classes in International Relations. She’s only supposed to be the T.A., but the prof is a sanctimonious asshole who didn’t even bother to give her a syllabus. (“You’re a smart girl, Lewis. You understand how important my research is. All you have to do is babysit the hormonal little brats.”)

_How many graduate students does it take to screw in a lightbulb?_

_Two and a professor to take credit for it._

Darcy Lewis is neither a girl nor a babysitter, so she sets out to teach the most badass IR course ever. (It’s totally not like she already has her own classes, a job, and a thesis to work on. Ha ha ha.) These kids’ brains are going to explode from all the knowledge Darcy is going to hit them with. (Seriously, there’ll be icky grey matter all over the ceiling, that’s how hard-core her knowledge bombs are gonna be.)

Yeah, sorry, slap-happy, remember?

Anyhow, when she walks in on the first day of class she is armed with an actually-useful syllabus (the kind with all the assignments for the whole semester and a class-tailored library research guide) and an exclusive Darcy-original reader made of primary sources (take that corporate textbooks!) She’s wearing her “professional” pumps and a classy updo that makes her look a bit like a sexy librarian. Due to her height, people often mistake her for an undergrad and Darcy’s mission is to radiate authority figure. (Librarians are authority figures, even the sexy ones.)

The class is full; a strange mix of bearded, rainbow-haired hipster intellectuals (rage against the machine) and the preppy, expensively-dressed children of business men and politicians (govern the machine). Welcome to PoliSci. Darcy walks to the front of the room and sets up her laptop. She takes a deep breath and tries to calm the butterflies in her stomach. (Darcy is definitely not shy, but she’s never been that comfortable with public speaking. Something about the anonymity of your audience while you put yourself out on display.)

Conversations in the room start to die off and Darcy’s head snaps up to check the clock. Showtime. Darcy mumbles under her breath.

“Courage is not the absence of fear but rather the judgment that something is more important than fear.” (The Princess Diaries is a super important film.) Then she assumes her best Commander Pentecost impression at calls out to the class. (Channeling Idris Elba can never hurt can it?) “Attention to the front.”

She can tell who the freshmen are by the way they jump to face her, pencils posed above their notebooks. The upperclassmen are chill enough to give her an appreciative laugh. She smiles at a particularly terrified looking kid in the front row. He goes wide-eyed and drops his head to look at his desk looking ready to hyperventilate. (Note to self: don’t try to reassure freshmen.)

“My name is Darcy Lewis and I am the T.A. in charge of teaching this class. Please feel free to call me Darcy. Weird name, I know, but my mom fell in love with Colin Firth’s butt.” She pauses and a sea of faces stare back blankly. Some look a bit concerned. She sighs. It’s official when people stop understanding your cultural references: Darcy is now a part of the older generation. When can she start getting senior discounts?

“Anyhow, whether you are a major or not, you are already studying IR in your own lives…” And so it goes.

By the end of class she feels like she’s won over the crowd. The overachievers rush her podium to shake hands and tell her how excited they are. She does her best to get them to lighten up with a (classier-than-usual) joke or two. They giggle or nod and pay her all sorts of obsequious complements before rushing off in an excited cluster. Darcy laughs out loud affectionately. They’re ridiculous, but they’re also passionate and excited to learn. She vows to take them under her wing and get them through their first semester. It’s not until she hears an amused huff behind her that she realizes she’s not alone.

She spins around abruptly only to spastically trip on her grown-up heels and almost faceplant on the corner of a desk.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Her life flashes before her eyes. (She’d never noticed the uncanny parallels to Superman’s backstory before. Y’know, the journey from American corn-country to futuristic scifi super hero story. It’s obvious really.) But instead of bloody death by head trauma she ends up in the strong arms of the mysterious huff. (Have we shifted to Harlequin tropes? Because Darcy was really enjoying the scifi/fantasy vibe.) That’s when she realizes what just came out of her mouth. “Uh… may he rest in peace?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to say that about Jesus.” Turns out that huff dude is one of her students. (Oops.) Her mouth gapes, but she can’t think of how to salvage her dignity. (This all could have been avoided if she’d just been brained against the desk as anticipated.) Thankfully, he continues on his own, grinning. “As I remember it, the resurrection part of the story was kind of a big deal.”

“Oh yeah, the zombie bit.” He laughs out loud this time and she can’t bring herself to feel too guilty. “Soooo, any chance we can pretend this was a 100% professional conversation where I maintained my aura of infallible authority and opened your mind to the wonders of academia?”

“Sure thing ma’am.” He’s still grinning at her, but it’s conspiratorial not judgemental. She likes him already. “I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m James.” James is older than most of the class, probably early-30s. If they were anywhere else she’d think he was smokin’ hot (leather jacket plus stunning blue eyes is everyone’s type.) But she’s his teacher (more or less) so she puts that thought aside.

“Hi James, what brings you to intro IR?”

“I’m in the process of changing careers. Decided I’d go back to school while I figure that out. Never got a chance before. Guess I thought International Relations sounded a lot like some of the stuff I was already doing.” He looks directly into her eyes, now appearing a little wary, and takes a breathe. “Plus, Steve told me about you.”

He seems to think that means something to her if the significant look he’s giving her is anything to go by. She wracks her brain to figure out who “Steve” could be, but she’s drawing a blank.

“Steve?” He looks surprised, but he recovers quickly.

“Steve Rogers. Built like a tank. Bleeds truth, justice and the American way. Kind of an idiot.” Her breath catches. Oh yeah, that Steve.

“What on earth does Captain America have to do with anything?” She wouldn’t have thought he’d remember her at all. James looks a little guilty.

“Well he’s got something to do with International Rela-” Darcy stops him with a hand.

“No jokes. What do you want? Are you S.H.I.E.L.D.? Because I have my own life now and I never worked for them anyways.” Now that her brain has had a chance to catch up she’s pissed. She doesn’t owe S.H.I.E.L.D. anything. If they wanted to talk to her they could have called or emailed like normal people instead of ambushing her in her place of work. He holds two hands placatingly, palms forward.

“Look, I’m not here from S.H.I.E.L.D. and I’m not here about Steve. Well I’m kind of here about Steve, but it’s not like that. It’s complicated.” He breaks off and runs a tense hand through his hair (which promptly turns into a hilarious mess that Darcy is too angry to properly appreciate.) He tries again. “Darcy, I mean, Miss Lewis-”

“Darcy.” He smiles gratefully.

“Darcy. I’m here for me. I really am a student, I didn’t lie about why I’m here. But I’m also here because I’m hoping we can be friends.” His voice is cool and collected, but Darcy can see a nervous tightness around his eyes.

“Friends?”

“If you want.”

“And you’re not my personal handler or anything like that?” He shakes his head. She considers him. Logically, she has no reason to believe him, but her instincts tell her that he’s being honest. Maybe he’s looking for someone else who knows about the crazy world of S.H.I.E.L.D She gets that. Something she hates having to lie to people about everything that’s happened to her in the last two years. Non-disclosure agreements are a pain. She decides to give him a chance.

“Culver must be weird after… whatever you were doing.” She exaggerates the leading question with an eyebrow waggle. James immediately relaxes. He makes a show of looking around before leaning towards her as if he were about to impart a secret. Then he breaks out into a cocky grin.

“Sorry doll, I’m afraid that’s top secret.” She pushes his shoulder lightly and he leans back looking smug and amused at himself.

“A man of mystery.”

“Well maybe if you come out to coffee with me I’ll give you a hint.” She pauses as if considering the offer.

“Nah. I think I’ll live. Sorry double-oh seven w-”

“James Bond!” Mr. Suave blurts this out like he’s playing jeopardy. Darcy raises an eyebrow.

“10 points to Slytherin. I’ll have to bring you to Quiz Bowl Mr. Trivia.” Darcy is fascinated by the way he ducks his head. “Wait are you blushing?” He throws her a glare, but there’s no heat in it. He grumbles at her.

James is weird and probably a spy, but despite herself she kinda likes him. Plus it’d be nice to have someone she can really talk to. Call her an optimist, but Darcy really believes that he’s trying to be real with her.

“Coffee?” Darcy smirks.

“Sorry James, but truth is the basis of any relationship. Still not feeling the love friend.” He looks so disappointed she gives up the act. “But I guess if you tell me a secret, you’re on.”

James looks thoughtful, but then he pulls off his left glove.

Oh yeah, Darcy’s life is definitely back in scifi mode.

\---

It’s a good thing Darcy has other friends, because James is incapable of sitting through a movie. Darcy tried to show him The Matrix (he’s never seen it!) and he spends the entire time fidgeting and making paper airplanes out of napkins and takeout containers. Trying to forgive him for that major faux pas she showed him Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow a few weeks later and ended up growling and turning it off halfway through when he had the nerve to fall asleep (Darcy is not sure if she can be friends with someone who doesn’t appreciate Sky Captain.)

Luckily for him, he more than makes up for this failing in other ways.

Item 1: He’s an amazing dancer. He and Darcy go out clubbing almost every weekend and have a blast. She shares an office with post-grad named Kayla (who is always wicked stressed, but also hilarious) and sometimes they go out with her, her girlfriend Rachel, and their housemate Kyle. James is the kind of guy that attracts everyone in the club and he seems to revel in it. Sometimes Darcy laughs at him for how much time he spends getting ready, but she has to admit that the finished product is ridiculously hot. Every once in a while James and Darcy mix it up and go somewhere with a dance floor and a band. Darcy has never had someone who actually wanted to go swing dancing with her and he’s the best partner she’s ever had.

Item 2: He’s pretty much her best student. The guy is full to the brim with Cold War trivia and may understand the moral and legal complexities of International Relations better than Darcy. He’s gained a few fans in the class and formed a weekly study group with them. They bring in questions and ideas that make their section the highlight of Darcy’s week. No matter how frustrated Darcy gets with her own classes and her thesis, James and crew remind her why she loves this subject.

Item 3: He surprises her. They go to an open mic in town when Kyle decides to perform some of his magic act. The next thing Darcy knows, James is obsessed with spoken word poetry. He spends half of his free time either in coffee shops with a poetry group or writing and practicing poems out by the lake. Darcy has never been that interested in spoken word (all she can picture is people snapping for a man with a black turtleneck and bongos) but she’s surprised by how insightful the community is. James and Diante, the leader of the poetry group, keep trying to get her to try it herself and she’s slowly building herself up to it. He’s also a huge Shakespeare fan and cajoles her into going to Shakespeare in the Park with him. He bribes her with beer and the promise of hot guys in tights. James doesn’t feel any need to adhere to the macho expectations that come with a hot rod, biceps, and leather.

Item 4: He tells the best stories. He tells wild, high-octane stories to everyone he meets: fellow students, baristas, that elderly couple that sat next to them during The Tempest. He has a talent for making people laugh out loud. (Darcy and him together are a force to be reckoned with.) But he also has stories that are just for Darcy that he only tells when they’re alone. Stories about women warriors and artists and magic. There’s one that is Darcy’s favorite.

“Caesar is dead, right?” They’re sitting on a bench outside Darcy’s exam room. Her oral was supposed to start 15 minutes ago, but they’re running late and she’s freaking out. James’ non sequitur gets her to stop jiggling her leg long enough to give him a judgemental look and a poke.

“Uh yeah, no duh.” He glares at her.

“And the Roman legions have basically been in a civil war ever since.” This is when Darcy realizes that it’s storytime and gives him her full attention. “It’s pretty much the same as any war ever in that a lot of people die and it’s really fuckin’ expensive.”

“Quality analysis there.” He covers her mouth with his hand and she licks him. He tastes metallic and doesn’t remove his hand. She glares at his smug face in outrage.

“Shush.”

“Mmhuhmfm.” She makes another escape attempt and bites down on his hand and he removes it immediately.

“Oh my god Darcy! Do you want to break your teeth?”

“No. I’m just smarter than you.” He shakes his head (in awe of her brilliant mind, obviously.) When he remains silent she starts to fidget again. She nudges his arm, but he only glances over at her with innocent concern.

“I’m sorry, can I help you?” She sighs.

“Can you pretty please with a cherry on top continue with your story?” He raises an eyebrow and looks at her expectantly. “Ugh. You are a brilliant genius whose brilliant geniusness I should never have impugned.” She gives her best Bambi eyes and earnest eyelash fluttering. He tries to remain stoic, but breaks and laughs affectionately.

“As I was saying. The men in charge decide that the best way to fund the war is to create a tax on the wealthy women of Rome. After all, it’s not like the women can fight back. But there’s this girl and she’s way too smart for her own good. She leads the women a march on the Roman Forum and blindsides the triumvirs with a speech. She tells them that the women will not fund their bloody civil war. That women don’t have the power in the government or military to fight against a war they did not support and therefore shouldn’t have to finance it.”

“No taxation without representation.”

“Something like that.” Darcy smiles.

“There’s a reason why I’m learning all this. I want to be able to have my voice heard, to be able to speak for people whose voices are suppressed.” James squeezes her hand.

“You’re going to do great, doll.” Darcy has a feeling he’s not just talking about her exam and it makes her feel warm inside.

Item 5: James Barnes believes in Darcy Lewis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New plan: this fic is going to be updated 1x week on Saturdays. Will try and post chapters faster if I can, but definitely once a week.
> 
> Also, Hortensia! Hortensia is the daughter of the orator Quintus Hortensius (who was a pretty big deal back in the day.) Not a lot is known about her except that she was highly educated in philosophy, oration, Greek/Latin literature, etc. She was highly admired as an orator for her technique and considered by some an heir to her father's mantle. The story in the fic is totally true. Hortensia and the Roman women were outraged at being taxed an entire year's income and a portion of their estate. They tried to go through the expected channels first (ie. petitioning the triumvirs' wives) but when that didn't succeed she led them straight to the Roman Forum. One quote: "Why should we pay taxes when we have no part in public office or honours or commands or government in general, an evil you have fought over with such disastrous results?" Basically, I love her.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has been following this fic!


	10. Movers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam Wilson isn't that great at assembling furniture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been edited since I originally posted it. The new version is way better. 9/28

“So let me get this straight. You went and searched out this girl because Steve told you bedtime stories about a magical mystery girl that fate wants you to fall in love with. And now that you’ve found fate-girl you’re freaking out because you might be falling for her?” Sam rubs the back of his neck and shakes his head incredulously. “What were you expecting to happen?”

“Shut up.” Bucky picks up a box and pushes it at Sam.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. It’s not my fault that you’re apparently stuck in a fairytale. Man, your life is so weird.”

“Tell me about it.”

Sam laughs. “Steve’s gotta be prince charming, he’s got that whole Disney thing going for him.” Sam looks at Bucky thoughtfully. “Have you ever worn a dress?”

Bucky only responds by loading another box into Sam’s arms. He barely hides his amusement at the way Sam grunts at the additional weight.

“You first.” Bucky gestures towards the staircase before picking up three boxes to carry himself.

Sam groans. "You are worse than my drill sergeant in basic.”

“I can carry one of those if you’re not up to it.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Sam mutters mockingly. “If you’re not up to it, freaking super soldiers.” They’re quiet as they climb the next two floors. Then they hear Darcy’s voice echoing down the stairwell. Sam turns to flash Bucky a grin. Bucky desperately whispers up at him.

“Just be cool.” He glances up where they can see Darcy’s head poking over the railing. Bucky calls up to her. “The cavalry is here.”

“Hello free labor! If you get your butts up here, I’ll feed you pizza and beer.”

“Yes ma’am.” Sam tries to balance the boxes with one arm so he can perform some sort of loose salute. Instead the idiot stumbles and is only prevented from tumbling down the stairs and breaking Darcy’s stuff by Bucky’s steadying arm on his back. Sam breathes out sharply and Bucky can feel his heart racing.

“Careful.”

“I think you just saved my life. Oh wow, death by moving accident. Not the blaze of glory I was imagining.”

“This mean we’re even?”

Sam makes an undignified snorting sound. “Buddy, we will never be even. I had to live with Cap’s sad puppy-dog face day-in and day-out for months. You owe me forever.” Sam’s words would sting if Bucky couldn’t hear the genuine affection behind them.

“Okay boys, boxes labelled with yellow tape go over here and boxes with blue tape go over where that dork is becoming one with the carpet.

“Hey!” A floppy-haired man in a beanie lethargically lifts his head from the floor to give Darcy a wounded look. Then he smiles over at Bucky and makes a vague gesture that Bucky interprets as ‘dude, throw me a beer.’ Bucky puts down the boxes and obliges. Darcy comes over to give him a hug.

“So who’s the muscle?”

Bucky smiles down at her. “Oh you mean that wimp? Picked him out of the sky.” Sam starts to object, but a new voice rings out.

“James!” Kayla rushes over from the kitchen. She gives him a hug over Darcy, who’s still attached to his arm, then notices Sam. “And James’ hot friend.”

Darcy shoves Bucky away so she can bound over to Sam. “Sorry for my lack of manners, I’m Darcy.”

Sam grins. “Yeah I know. Your boy never shuts up about you. I’m Sam.”

Darcy links arms with him and leads him to the center of the room. “Guys, this is Sam. Sam, these are my Pips.”

Kayla snorts. “Keep flattering yourself Gladys.” Darcy shrugs unrepentantly and Kayla addresses Sam. “Why don’t you come put those muscles to use and help me put together the furniture. I’m in Ikea hell.”

Darcy yells after them as Sam follows Kayla into the other room. "Stop objectifying him! Sam, remember you are more than an insanely hot bod!”

Bucky can hear Sam laughing on the other side of the wall.

“So what can I do, doll?”

Darcy holds her arms out for another hug and he gladly goes over to her. She sighs in his arms. Darcy and Bucky are close, not romantically, but he knows that she feels the same comfort in his presence as he does in hers. He feels less at sea when he's with her.

“Thanks for coming. I had no idea how stressful this was going to be. When we got here the place was locked and the landlord wasn’t here and none of the neighbors had any idea how to find him. It’s been quite a morning.”

“But now there’s pizza and beer.”

She smiles. "Now there is pizza and beer. So things are definitely looking up.” She looks over at the lump on the floor. “Kyle, come help us carry up the rest of the boxes.” Kyle gamely stands up and follows them out, only sending one forlonging glance back at his beer.

For the next few hours they’re busy setting up Darcy’s new apartment. Bucky doesn’t even notice how hungry he is until his stomach growls loudly, sending Darcy into a fit of laughter.

“Just because you’re unpaid labor, doesn’t mean you’re not entitled to a lunch break.” She grabs his arm with one hand and an entire box of pizza with her other. “Come on, you’ve got to see this view.” She leads him out onto her tiny patio. “Okay, so you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but is Sam the Falcon? Because he looks suspiciously like the Falcon.”

“You’ll have to ask him.”

Darcy nods. "I will.” The eat in silence for a moment. “You never told me what your plans were for the summer.”

“I’m going back to New York.”

“To Steve.”

“Yep.” Bucky puts his slice down and looks at her closely. “You can ask me anything you know. I’ll try and answer.”

“You love him don’t you?”

Bucky tenses. They never talk about Steve or the Winter Soldier or the Avengers. Sometimes she mentions Thor, but that’s about it. He told her about the soldier on one of the first occasions they hung out together, and she's too smart not to have filled in the blanks. But she's never pushed him about it. Never called him anything other than the name he gave her. Never pushed him for details about what he does in New York except to ask if he's okay. He likes that about her. He's grateful. But right now he realizes that he wants her to know. He doesn't want to keep secrets from her.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” Bucky doesn’t know what to say so he waits. “You could have been with him this whole time.”

“I needed to be here. I needed to find my own place in this world.” He nudges her shoulder. “And I wanted to be with you.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes sense to me.” There’s a loud knock on the sliding glass door behind them. They both jump and turn back to see Sam and Kayla making victorious gestures. Bucky stands and offers her a hand. When they open the door they are overwhelmed by Sam and Kayla’s enthusiasm. There is a slightly crazed look in there eyes.

“We finished! I almost gave up -”

“There was this missing screw and -”

“- three hours later -”

“- under the freakin’ rug!”

“- and Sam thought the diagram -”

“- Kayla flipped it upside down -”

“- there was an extra washer!” Darcy and Bucky are frozen in the doorway, bemusedly looking between their two friends as the onslaught continues.

“- figured out that was a typo -”

“- twenty-five!” Sam and Kayla quiet and look at them expectantly.

“Okay. So does that mean my furniture is finished?”

Sam and Kayla respond in unison.

“Yes!” The tense atmosphere from outside evaporates and everyone companiably heads towards the living room.

They don’t talk any more about it until Bucky and Sam about to leave. Darcy pulls him aside while everyone says their goodbyes.

“I might come up to visit Jane at the end of June. Will I see you?”

Bucky nods. “Definitely. I don’t know exactly where I’m staying yet, but I’ll let you know.”

“I’m gonna miss you.”

“Schools not over for a few weeks. And you promised to help me study for my finals. You’ll see me so much you’re gonna be sick of me.”

Darcy punches his arm.

“I’m already sick of you.”

Bucky side-eyes her skeptically. “Uh huh.”

“You could at least pretend I’m a good liar.”

Bucky summons his courage.

“Hey Darce.”

“Mhmm.”

“I think I love you too. You don’t have to say anything, but its true. And I’m glad it’s true.” Darcy looks at him and he can’t tell what’s going on behind her blue eyes. He clears his throat. “We still going dancing tomorrow night?”

Darcy only falters for a second before she plasters on a smile. “You betcha.” There's a long moment before she relaxes and pulls him in for a hug. “Thanks for all your help today, really.”

“Anytime.”

He turns back as he and Sam leave only to see her watching him. Her arms are folded protectively over her chest and there's a tight frown on her face.  In that moment Bucky wonders if he's risked everything.

\---

Bucky finishes his finals on a Wednesday and immediately crashes on his couch. Too many late nights of cramming and formatting bibliographies he left to the last minute. He has a vague thought about maybe moving to the bed, but he must fall asleep before he can act on that thought, because when he wakes up a few hours later he’s drooling on a couch cushion and has an imprint of the upholstery fabric on his cheek.

Someone knocks on the door again and he shakes off the last of his sleepiness.

“Coming.” It’s Darcy and she looks like she’s seen a ghost. She walks past him the moment he opens the door. He looks at her messy hair, uggs, and pajama bottoms and goes on the alert. They've barely spoken since he blurted out that he loves her. Her being here means something's wrong. “Darce, is everything okay?”

“They tortured me.” Anger floods through his system, competing with an overwhelming panic. In less than a second he’s flipped into Winter Soldier mode and ready to take on anything. Darcy notices the transformation and freezes. She speaks cautiously. “James.”

“Who hurt you?”

“Fuck.” She holds her hands in front of her. “No one. I’m okay. It was just a dream.” The Soldier takes in her tear-filled eyes. He scans her body and can’t see any external injuries. Subject appears he- “James, please calm down. You’re scaring me.” Something in her tone breaks through to him and he tries to follow her direction.

“Darcy, what happened?” She breathes out and sits down on his couch. He stands, watching her, until she pats the cushion next to her.

“Sit down?”

“Darcy.”

“I know. Just give me a second to put my words together.” He nods, closing his eyes as the adrenaline fades from his system. “I’m sorry I scared you. I shouldn’t have said it like that.” He shakes his head guiltily.

“I scared you. I thought I more in control than that. I’m sorry.” They are both quiet, listening to their ragged breaths in the quiet apartment.

“I dreamed of us. You and me and him.” Bucky tries to clamp down on the flicker of hope he feels. The hope that she can understand and want it just as much as he does. “But it wasn’t us. It was, but it wasn’t. Does that make sense?” When he responds his voice is rough.

“Yeah.”

“We were all part of this plot. There was a king, a dictator really. He was corrupt and cruel, especially to you. Steve could never stop talking about the importance of freedom and democracy. His brother had this creepy obsession with you, but you didn’t love him. You loved us. He started taking it out on your family; he publicly humiliated your sister, destroyed her reputation in society.” Bucky’s heart falls. He knows this story and it doesn’t have a happy ending. “The plan was to kill the king and the brother, but something happened. Someone messed up and only the brother was killed. Maybe you’re hot-headed temper got in the way. Maybe someone betrayed us. I never found out.” She breathes in shakily.

“Darcy you don’t have to.”

“All I ever knew was that they arrested us all. They tortured me for days and days, trying to get me to give you two up. Then they told me you were dead. I mourned for you while they cut into my flesh and beat me, but I would not give up the names of those who helped us.” Darcy is crying in earnest now. Tears running down her face, seemingly without her permission. “And then I died.”

“You’re here. You’re alive.”

“It’s just a dream, but it hurts.” Bucky can see the pain in her eyes and he is so angry that this is the story she remembers. So angry that this is a moment of pain and not celebration. Because it should be. He wants her to remember joy and love, not tragedy. “I tried to ignore it. Just a stupid dream, but it feels real. I can’t… I needed to see you.”

“It’s real.”

And then Bucky tells her everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's story is about Harmodius, Aristogeiton, and Leaena. All of these crazy kids were around in Athens in the 6th century BCE. This story is a little complicated to tell because there are a lot of different versions, but here's one interpretation (history is fun.) Like is said Harmodius and Aristogeiton (who were lovers) tried to kill the king (Hippias). But on the day of the plan they saw one of their co-conspirators talking to Hippias and thought they had been betrayed (maybe they were, this is unclear). Believing they were about to be arrested for conspiracy to kill the king anyways, they fell back on plan B and killed his brother Hipparchus (who was the asshole who refused to respect that Harmodius did not want to have sex with him and then humiliated Harmodius' sister.) Leaeana was a hetaera and one of the conspirators. Depending on who tells the story she is described as either Harmodius' or Aristogeiton's lover (considering that they were devoted lovers it is pretty easy to assume there was three-way action going on.) Leaena was tortured to death by Hippias along with Harmodius and Aristogeiton. Harmodius and Aristogeiton became known as "the liberators" and were important symbols as martyrs for the cause of Athenian democracy. The Athenians dedicated a statue of a bronze lioness in the Acropolis in honor of Leaena and her sacrifice.  
> About Leaena, Plutarch says: "When, therefore, the conspirators failed and were put to death, she was questioned and commanded to reveal those who still escaped detection; but she would not do so and continued steadfast, proving that those men had experienced a passion not unworthy of themselves in loving a woman like her. And the Athenians caused a bronze lioness without a tongue to be made and set up in the gates of the Acropolis, representing by the spirited courage of the animal Leaena's invincible character, and by its tonguelessness her power of silence in keeping a holy secret. "
> 
> Look, this came out on Saturday as promised :) Thank you all for reading and I hope you'll be back again next week!


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